Monday, 27 December 2010

Pearl in the Shell

Aint it funny
How a cut of fabric can shape your mind
Cloud your judgement
Fool your eyes
Failing to look beyond the medias lies
Branding me as oppressed 
But you fail to see what's inside

My body is under lock and key
But my soul?
My soul is free
You see
I dont know what's got you believing what you believe
If freedom lies in wearing skirts about my knees
Displaying my God-Given beauty
For hungry eyes to seize
Then what more than an object of desire does that make me?
When i pace the room
Its not the sway of my hips that have them looking
The stroke of my hair
Or the way i'm walking
It's the composure as a muslim woman I'm holding
It's the way I express my faith through my clothing
I let my personality do the talking

This was given as a blessing.

By Zibz Hilwa, photographer, student and poet.  Also member of youth poetry collective 'Words Apart' 

Thursday, 23 December 2010

Poetry Lunch at the South Bank centre

For the South Bank Centre's Poetry Lunch last month during Poetry International.  'Words Apart' were invited to read some of our individual pieces at the South Bank Centre's Royal Festival Hall.

Here some of the photo's:

'Words Apart' with Irish Poet Catherine Brogan (centre, left) and Palestinian poet Sawsan Abu Qare (Centre, right) and Brooklyn based American-Palestinian poet and activist Remi Kanazi

Monday, 20 December 2010

Get out, get lost, you oxymoron!

Father you have been my mother
My all, my everything
My none my nothing
You’ve really gone and done it now, father.

Rather than admit and quit while you were ahead
Now I’m too tired to sleep
As you put me to bed
I’m too sad to weep
So you cry instead, father.

Father, we’ve been through so much together
Chelsea’s blues are our colour
No matter the weather
You pretended you’d be there for me.
You send me mad, father.

Father, what’s your problem
Probably, you’re mine.
But what? You’re not.
We’re not complete us too. You are
A cripple who is whole. I’m too subtle for that.
You cripple me father.

Father, at times our connection feels cut.
All clutter and clatter
What's the matter?
Can't cut it? Cut it out
Don't utter, because you'll stutter
It's a pity, now they don't glitter
Epitomising the staccato pitter, patter of my mettle
Words no longer melt and dance for you
Like butter, father.

Father, I’m not getting to the cause
I’m just spitting out the symptoms. Don’t
Doubt, rather know, those names you called me
Hurt, like the worms eating holes in my heart, father

Father, why do you hate me? I’m not a boy,
I’M NOT A TOY. No boys. But I’m close
I tried for you, rather, you just destroyed me.
It’s touching . Our relationship is like a malnourished
Tramp trying to steal a car. It’s not going to work.
So much love for you. I just want
To love you, father.

Heart-carver, how is it that you can hurt me
And be a better person still. It’s ill-advised to cross you
So I cross you in style. I have become an eternal doom
In your eyes. The gloom in your surprise,
Shows how hard it is for soldier not to die
But to love, father

Father, I wish you could see me now. Bearing
The semblance of regularity. Breaking the
Mould. Stretching, polarity raging here with
Unbalanced power of this icy inferno
You stink now or rather you smell.
Well, I think it’s time you get out
And get lost, father!

By Poet, Actress and Playwright and member of youth Poetry collective Words Apart: Comfort Nwabia

Sunday, 19 December 2010

Like the snow in Britain, he came too quick

And I was not prepared for the scale of his bits

And no grit could help with this shit

So I’m stuck with his seed, while his out with some chicks

And he’s up in the club, and I’m watching a flick

And I swear, an abortion is looking so good right now

But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all of this, is that what looks good

Hell, it ain’t

And it leaves you messed up like carpet and paint

You can wash it away, but it’s still shit after

They tell me that the best medicine is laughter.

And so I,

Turn on the TV to try to block it out of my brain

Until I realise it is that same device that got me giving brain

All the things I have seen I cannot retract

I was too caught up in this box to educate myself with the real facts

And I’m looking at nappies, sitting on the shelf, man

I’m not ready to be a mum. I’m just a kid myself, and I’m

Not ready for this responsibility.

Shit, I’m twelve

I can’t even vote, I can’t even smoke, I can’t even drink and of all the

Illegal shit I had to do it just had to be this

The one thing where I’m not just responsible for me, but also this

But this isn’t how I envisioned it

Where’s my husband, my dog, my house and my picket fence?

I guess it’s where my virginity is, gone, torn

It has died, and now this must be born

It’s a vicious cycle, but I drew it

I had a decent life, but I threw it

And all cause all the kids on the block ‘do it’

The lack of love I was given I thought I could find at the end of a man

I wish I knew that no man deserved me, that no man could desert me

Because I could never be alone if God is with me

Now I am focussed on my seeds

That I will raise to be mothers and fathers

Helen Kellers and Che Guevaras

They might not have a dad,

But I will be their Father

Their sole providers

Their soul riders

And I will love them with one condition

That they love each other

And they will never treat another

How their dad treated their Mother.

By Young, Talented Poet Samira Musa based In Islington. WATCH THIS SPACE!

Friday, 17 December 2010

My Country

How many lives were lost?

The ground bled red

With innocent blood

Slave masters, governors even king and queens

Orchestrating mass murder in their serene scenes

Imagine a mother,

wife and daughter’s cries of pain and frustration

Over bloody wars fought for the freedom of a nation

But not just on the battlefield politically as well

The appearance of this land epitomises hell

so the urge to progress independently

and become a country that can stand on its own

I speak critically for those who died before me

Their injustice were never told only

Because of an unimaginable tyranny

Trying to take one people’s hope to be free

I can never know

How many lives were lost?

The ground bled red

With innocent blood

I refuse to shun

The unimaginable truth

That whilst innocent people where being slaughtered

It made the wicked more financially supported

National heroes tried to defy this

And some executed in the process:

Samuel Sharpe, George William Gordon and Paul Bogle

All were men born in slavery and are notably noble

Who contributed to its abolishment as a whole

Where their stories and their role will forever be known

Den ova to de wuman, de Obeah wuman known as Nanny,

She herself freed over 800 slaves

her ferocious Maroons, feared by the British for what they displayed

they were untamed lions strong as mount Zion

whilst Marcus Garvey renown as he fought to outline

The abuse of Africans at the time

Norman Manley and Sir Alexander Bustamente

Involved in the struggle against colonial rule

Fought using their political tools

Took advantage of an empire going downhill

U see dem yout mi a talk bout

Mi av’ nuf respect fi dem cause

fe dem role in a de liberation of a country

that belongs to me

I will never know

How many lives were lost?

That turned the ground red

With innocent blood

Can warfare be used to release the oppressed into peace?

This dilemma we discuss on the news and the street

But the truth I believe is not in what we perceive

but in what we do

Like heroes in Jamaica did for me and you.

By Tajhame 'TJ" Jackson a poet, playwright and actor

Tajhame spent his childhood in Kingston, Jamaica until the age of 9 when he moved to North London. This poem was inspired by Jamaican history and his experiences there.

A clip of TJ performing this poem will appear on the blog soon!

Sunday, 12 December 2010


In 1945 the US arrived.
Bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Killing thousands upon thousands.
Now i fast forward 65 years
Still bloodshed in the political sphere,
By the military volunteer,
Hearing shit through the vestibule of his ear.
Everyone hopeful of peace but we aint nowhere near.

The mission, the repetition, obama deception,
The western Influence and the Eastern resistance.
The Saudi King and Arab word's puppet pittance.
Sucked up by America's New World Order,
With Karzai saying "I'm just protecting my borders",
Bullshit, he is sucking his people dry,
Like the Indus River in the month of July.
All slaves to the bureaucracy, open hell mutiny.
A chance for Taliban to execute their battle plan,
But the War isn't over cos they still curse the city man.

But you notice all this cos of BBC news,
On repetition slowly moulding your views.

2/3 of the world has deterring education,
Constant striving of 3rd world nations,
So the rich can fulfil their gluttony,
They should be locked up for 1st degree felony,
Smart suits but no intelligent policy.
I turn to Mali, world's lowest rate of literacy.

99' they deploy the British Army to Sierra Leone,
Where kids die forever searching the shiny bloodstone,
But that's what's on the hands of America,
Till this day expanding military bases in Africa,
To deter violence and uphold the UN resolution.
But 2003 you invade Iraq, how is that a solution?
You say it was to bring democracy,
Don't feed us that bullshit it's all hypocrisy.

Time travelling but our views may disagree,
for a moment of peace but there's no guarantee.
You may run from honesty but can't hide from the truth i speak.
Open you eyes cos your mind is weak,
So now you see there is more to life than your Prada and Burberry,
I do what Malcolm X said, "By any means necessary",
cos I believe.

By Poet, SOAS Law student, part time model, writer, actress, and playwright Azkaa Hassam

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Act*Sane*But*Outstand (A.S.B.O)

More drink
More smoke
Crack a another joke
Take another toke
All got money
Yet all broke
Paralysed is being a bloke
Making people glad
If you act like a lad
More to decanter
Cause its just banter
Smiles on faces
Looking for new places
On a saturday night
All wanna shine so bright
We need a flashing light
Let us be emotionally
And socially epileptic
Text message talk
Leaves us dyslexic
But do you think we care?
We care
About swagger and hair
And if we walk with flair
Without a doubt we'll glare
At the boys on the estate
With no debate
To show we're hard
Eating reshaped lard
The time is no sign
As we shape another line
Make every crime
Till we feel like grime
Noses bleeding
Condoms needing
To be deseeding
Females are our feeding
Impressing the peers
With fake jewels in ears
Loudest music
Is amusing
Not knowing what drugs we're using
What drink we're boozing
But we're never loosing
With a text
With in for sex
Come and go
Nothing complex
Worship the man behind decks
Next morning blues
Vomit on shoes
Must have a been a good one
Yeh really fun
Throat like sand
No money in hand
Inpregnanted a girl
Which was planned
By she was peng and tanned
So fuck it
Front window shatters
Nothing ever matters
Pockets filled
Of un-billed
Broken joint
But that's the point
Living like dirt
But make it grand

Remember act sane but oustand

Rebel generation
Binged out nation
In need nothing lended
Left broke nothing mended

Russian vodka in throat
Left on the same boat
As all her girls
Who are the best looking in the world
And with another drink
She'll sink
To the floor
And left raw
Tongues behind the door
She wants no one to see
But everyone to know
That for him she went low
And made him a man
For the start that was he plan
Sober she's prudent
An A star student
But she wants to act stupid
So she can exploit cupid
But we just laugh
Love bite hidden by a scarf
Sucked till a cut
Called a sket, hoe and a slut
Her slates been painted and tainted
And she can't wipe it
But deep down she likes it
Party girl
Little miss rave
To be left in a daze
For days
Under her allure and haze
That's the mission
To get boys wishing
And dreaming
To get them flirting
And scheming
Until she starts screaming
And masscara starts to run
But she'll make the boys come
And speak highly
The objective is grimey
To find the stimulant
To get intimate
In for the kill
And she's on the pill
Fumble in the dark
We don't need protection
Fake hair, nails and unreal complexion
Never happy at her reflection
But let the party go on
One night we'll forget where we're from
Dance all night
Till the morning light

Rebel generation
Binged out nation
In need nothing lended
Left broke nothing mended

Its all about the nightlife
No strife
Weekend fun loving
Clit strumming
Girls cumming
Kind of fun
So we can snort and bun
And never repent
To our hearts content
The aim
Is to make our name
And let it ring across the land
Remember we gotta act sane but try and oustand

Seri Kholi also a hip hop artist and emcee by the name of Seri Skay and member of the Poetry collective: 'Words Apart'

Thursday, 23 September 2010


When the doors close in you feel trapped, unable to breathe.
The most spacious place in the world, yet your heart is being crushed.
The taste of salt streams down your face insistently, unwittingly, fittingly. Tears!
Strange how they can embody happiness yet represent heartache and turmoil. Desperation.

To be free without constraints. Who are you? Who am i? Who are they?
To break free?
To be the causation of shattered expectations and disappointment.

Oh to break free.
Oh to be me.

By Zena B, a new and very skilled poet!

Sunday, 19 September 2010

'The Scars I Try To Hide'

Watch how long it takes for my intentions to be misread,
My words are screamed over and theirs begin to encroach my head.
Watch how quick their anger blows up and finds a fight,
My emotions begin to catch alight.

Their words cut me like a knife
It soon begins to hurt someplace deep inside.
I leave the room as they scream and shout
So I can scratch the pain on the surface until I zone out.

The sting brings with it a false sense of relief
So much for trying to turn over a new leaf
Everything stops for that moment in which I'm now stuck
The place where I truly don't give a fuck.

I've heard them say some things are a little too late
I guess this is one of them, a fact I truly hate
It’s done now and there's no going back
No chance to gain the strength which I so desperately lack.

Numbness takes over and hardens my heart
I dry my tears and dream of a new start
But as I open my eyes it suddenly hits me
These dreams will never ever be my reality, I am simply my own worst enemy

As the days go by I slowly try to figure it out
Questioning myself, what is it really all about
I need to let go of these demons that haunt me
I just want some peace; I need to set my mind free

I’ve had enough of the tears
Sick and tired of fighting this battle for the past four years
Enough is enough, I’m done giving in
It’s too self destructive living with this sin

I pray for strength, I pray there won’t be a next time
My skin doesn’t look too pretty with all these confused lines
So for now I hope that the scars inside
Will fade quicker than the ones I try to hide.

By The talented poet Abiha B

Tuesday, 14 September 2010

'Words Apart' Free Poetry Workshops.

Tupac was a


Kanye is a



And YOU too can be a Poet.




This Monday at Canada Villa be part of

the poetic revolution sweeping across London.

Be part of a thriving community of poets, exchange ideas, create new work and work towards a performance at The Rumi Festival (London’s most famous Poetry event). As well as performing at regular poetry slam’s.

Hosted by The Leano and Urban Poet.

With Guest Poets coming in too!

What to bring: Your mind, a pen and any poetry you may have to perform

What time? Every week, Monday Nights at 6 – 8pm

Where? The Canada Villa Youth Centre, Mill Hill, Barnet. (Next to Mill Hill Powerleague)

For more information contact: M.Zain in college or email:

Friday, 10 September 2010

Every inch of me is screaming for violence

Every inch of me is screaming for violence
Fists clenched and fire flowing bitter anxiety
I wana punch kick and wrestle
Blistered bloody knuckle
Beat my knuckles
Pound some flesh

But I don't wana hurt anybody
Least not myself
I want to fight this world and put it in its place
Yet I can't even seem to fight myself
And its myself that beats me down
My own rusty halo is what cuts me
I can't be good
Even though its who I am
I still hold on to the evil that makes me weak
I'm not who I used to be
Nor am I strong enough to be whom I want to be
I'm stuck somewhere in between
A place where there is no light
The darkest place I could ever be
And I'm about to lose this fight

Why do I cause myself to suffer in this life
Only to burn in hell?

By Adil Hossenally

Monday, 6 September 2010

Wedding Ring.

I see this lady wearing a wedding ring
I smile, close my eyes and dream

I feel the feeling of being married
Of coming home to you, that excitement

Emotions of our wedding day
The knowing that I've done right
I picture myself dancing and holding you
The comfort of being close without hesitation, fear nor regret

But the pictures I paint aren't ones of images
No, the simple thought and faith of my dreams coming true are simpler yet so much more complex

Who you are I don't know, but I pray for you each day

I pray for us

And as I smile I feel gods hand calming my impatient impertinent wanting
Reassuring me of the future

When I find you I know you'll be hesitant
For that is the nature of who you are
But I have faith, god knows my dreams, my desires, my prayers, my everything and all other things.

So I ask of my lord that I may be blessed with patience

Until the day we dance
The day we smile
The day we fight
The day we cry
The day we live
The day we become we...

Until then I trust in Him

By Adil Hossenally

Saturday, 4 September 2010


I once thought of inspiration as an emotion.
Guidance of creativity from another reality.
The whispers of an unseen spirit.

When words spill poison,
spread disease and utter confusion.
Is it the unseen dark shadows of your mind
that your heart,
the chamber of emotions,
container of your soul,
is listening to?

Whereas when at peace,
and smooth, soft, swift, sympathetic words swirl into being.
Who gifts you with those?

When the heart aches and the grey clouds fill the horizon,
is it only perception that causes painful suffering?
For behind every grey cloud is there not a blue sky?
How can your eyes see truth when the heart is veiled by darkness?

Alhamdulil'ah. My Lord has lifted that burden.
Can you now not see that you are blessed?

By Adil Hossenally.

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Star-crossed with chains.

We’re bound by this link
Two souls forming as one
Hearts beating in sync
Our love deviant like the rising sun
We’re gifted with knowledge
Tortured by bittersweet fate
Our feelings we acknowledge
Laid out like fresh bait
We’re pawns to this intimate game
Beckoning, consuming our minds
Powerful source with no name
That slowly drinks up our time
No fresh blade can cut these chains
Their marks will be etched onto our skins
Poison running freely into our veins
We may forget, and move on,
But in the end there is no real win

By Ambia Khatun

Saturday, 21 August 2010


What danger lurks within emotions of the human heart...

So fragile, so easy to pull apart

These profound emotions find no rest

They Pulsate mercilessly against the chest

Disturbing the sleep with their rhythmic blows

Flooding the mind with thoughts overflowed

They reside in the heart, to the world,unknown

Emotionally overpopulated chamber, ready to implode

No more escape through imaginary seduction

Reality is here to devastate your fictitious conception

Mental stability is now in critical condition.


By Zibz Hilwa, Talented Poet and Photographer

Sunday, 15 August 2010

Rebellion I Am

Rebellion, I am.
Executioner of the orders.
Indiscriminately firing my words like fatal bullets,
Puncturing the rims of your authority;
inflicting you with agony.
Hear my gun shots loud and clear,
Let them echo in the caves of your ear.

I carry with me an intense heat
Burning like a fire;
fueling this rebellious desire.
The sparks entice me,
with their luminous glow.
The blaze ignites upon your every attempt of control.

I oppose you with a passion
A passion so dire;
It tenses my muscles,
protrudes my veins,
blurs my sight,
heaves my emotions;
for I am only capable of frustration in the face of hopelessness.

They regard it a loss of sanity-

this rebellion,
rebellion I am.

By the talented photographer and poet Zibz Hilwa

Friday, 13 August 2010

Niggers and Paki's.

Niggers or Paki's any single word they use to classify and identify our identity to degrade us worse then the slave ships and worse then the struggle for INDEPENDENCE,

Now we are in this country, they say London is so diverse, but our colour and creed is a curse to them, trapped in the system of capitalism, and they fool us into thinking we need their DEPENDENCE

The shortened version of the word Pakistani to a four letter word that bigots of the 70’s enjoyed using while bashing my family, and the N word used to described slaves to degrade them, disgrace them, yet we use them in abundance.

Words that state us and paint our personality and taint our reality

Two words trickled down to the youth, in dismay, passed through like an urban cool, but who’s the fool; tell me who’s the fool when these words would make Enoch Powell drool. At the thought that we the minority, driving the NHS and maintaining the elite authority, degrade ourselves in such a way.

I can’t understand why these words are in the oxford dictionary, when it’s just fantasy fiction created by the oppressors of the past, how long will this last, They tell us to move from past to present but like the Palestinian scarf this fashion is one that is likely to last.

The problem isn’t as simple as a pimple on your face, as we scratch away, hoping one day this dilemma will go away, scratching away, until nothing is left but a scar on your cheek and mankind’s conscious.

Politicians tell us to move on, while I wipe the backside of the Lord in the chamber, I just wiped you bottom, can I have my peerage now please? Prince Harry showing us that the monarchy have not changed, just exchanged the whip for the word.

And now the disease is a condition, smiles of the bigots in the graves develop as I call my Pakistani friend a Paki and my Black friend a nigger, as if, spitting in the faces of the brave men and women who fought in the struggle.

The solution remains in the heart, where the disease was first implemented, showing brothers your love is above all else what we must strive for, to escape this condition and that. Is the mission.

So when you walk on the street, embrace your brother, black, white, brown any colour that our green, blue or brown eyes see.
Because no colour truly defines me.

no colour DEFINES your identity

'The Yob'

'The Yob'

The 'White boy', shaved head, leaning on the wall,
Can’t cry, can’t smile, life for him is dead.
Tall towers engulf his world, opportunities are far,
His life is summed up by the cut above is lip,
Etched on his soul, lies another scar

Beat down before, not now he says,
‘I got myself a knife’
So often he comes back in a daze
Friday was high day and they would blaze

witnessed father beat her black and blue,
he thought if she wasn't my mother I would beat her too.

aspirations were existent but they were stamped out even through resistance
wrote a short story through his teacher's insistence
but it wasn't published because no one persisted.

This emotional function is stained, gone black,
‘I never been a boy, I never existed’
He mumbles, his life is as evil as twisted,
Now spends his days, getting high on crack
Ignorant and angry, there is no way back.

His deep blue eyes swallow hope,
And the blade in his hand shouts insecurity,
As the fumes in his fag make him choke,
Labelled a failure, teachers gave up,
His body is corrupt, he has had enough,

Lying their mindless, just like before,
But blood dominates as he is no more,
For the sorrow of it all,
No one really cares,
‘He’s vulgar, racist, he shouts, he swears,

So there he rots labelled ‘The Yob’
As deep in the estate, his mother starts to sob.

Thursday, 12 August 2010

For the Innocent Victims of War

They call it democracy
But in reality it's just contradictions and hypocrisy
Hiding behind their protective veils
Goverment and money as their shields
Point their finger at innocent nations
Then sell to them their destructive creations
They create an international police force
Whilst claiming to start legitimate wars
They say their just creating a peaceful world
Then make weapons more dangerous, why?
To increase their worth
They fell threatened when a country makes progress
Then decide it's elimination in their prejudice congress
Arrogant viewpoints- their supreme opinions
At their command deaths of thousands of civilians
They initiated the terrorist colony
Started off all the killing, pain and agony
Yet they invade other nations
Accusing them of their own violations
They fund dictators and form a strong alliance
Then feel threatened when the dictator becomes defiant
To maintain power and avoid deviation
They invent a war on terror..A great fabrication
Claiming to be saviours they come with their artillery
Armed to their teeth killing relentlessly
They feel free to avenge the death of their loved ones
Yet it's a crime for us to protect our homeland?
If they really are fighting terror like they said
Then their guns should be pointing at their own heads

By Fatema Khatun

Friday, 6 August 2010

Here I stand

Here I stand,
Tall and strong in my occupation

Here I stand,
In the shadow of the strong and tall,

Yet I am stronger
I am deeper,
I am love,
I am no heart of stone,
And, in time
I will sow a thousand doves,
That will spread their wings,
And break this stone oppressor,
From its very foundations,

Do not mistake me,
Simply for a frail old thing,
For I was here before you,
Am here with you,
And shall be here long after you have gone..

Even tho you may try to slay me
My life comes from within,
the very earth under your feet.

My heart beats freedom.

By DJ Steaz


'This poem was inspired initially by the photograph, and also the experiences I have had and people I have met throughout my life, combined with my journey and experience in Palestine expression of my feelings and thoughts which manifested in these words..the poem is kind of about the Olive tree..but it's really more profound than that..kind of regarding human perseverance, strength, passion, peace, truth and love' DJ Steaz...

This poem was inspired by the experiences I have had and people I have met throughout my life.
Here is a link for the photographers original work:

Saturday, 31 July 2010

"I believe"

"I believe" by Riyaz Mangia

I believe that men should lower their gaze and maintain their modesty,
I believe that women should cover themselves up and dress properly,
I believe in wisdom generosity and piety,
I believe in freedom of speech and equality.
I believe in honesty and loyalty and neglect the ideology of pride and royalty.

These lyrics are real coz they come straight from the heart I take lyricism a privilege and I consider it as an art,
I believe Martin Luther King when he said "I have a dream",
I believe that we will be victorious like the days of the great sultan salahudeen,
I believe that men and women should look at the heart and soul,
rather than the outer appearance from head to toe,
I believe that the political and legal system in which the world operates around will eventually break,
I believe that people in this world are fake,
I believe that some people are real and see through the bull**** and the lies,
I believe the angels take our prayers to the almighty in the heavenly skies,

I believe that one should stay pure,
I believe for every disease there is a cure,
I believe that the disabled and the terminally ill are already in paradise,
I believe in heaven and hell and the after life.
I believe that woman's heart should make you smile,
I believe that women shouldn't take there beauty as an advantage,
And I believe people shouldn't take compliments for granted,
I believe a man shouldn't lay a finger on his woman,
And I believe that she shouldn't provoke him,
I believe married men shouldn't take advantage of young girls,
I believe that punishment will befall them in this world
I believe that women should be treated like queens by their husband,
I believe that men should be treated like kings by their wife,
I believe that you shouldn't have a vision of how you want to live your life.

I believe in freedom and peace will come to palestine,
I believe this system we will eventually defeat,
I believe that if we believe we can achieve,
If we've achieved then its all coz we've believed,
So all u gotta so is just believe, because I believe.

by Riyaz Mangia aka Poet Razette

Sunday, 25 July 2010

The Story of Sara... in the heart of Afghanistan

Sara was going to scream in something more powerful and potent then pain.
Then she experienced a dream, lost consciousness, the cousin of death, call it what you will.

In this lost land she sat there still,
Writing, only seven about an Afghan princess,
Her own life, ravaged by incest,
But she still felt blessed to see the fruit blossom

Poor mother was still serving a life’s debt
Time dictated by war, post soviet,
Pre-Taliban, but still times were rough
Cursed with tragic optimism, still it was tough

Still Sara played everyday,
Climbing tree’s whilst father was out fishing
The clouds were mountains
And the shooting stars were for wishing

One odd, dark day,
Quite cold for Kandahar,
An old bearded man was seen from afar
As he arrived it looked like the death of laughter

His skin looked wrinkled, eyes were sinister,
But to the people he was the village minister
Ordering the immediate circumcision,
Not male, female and related it to religion

A false pretence, a sheer fallacy
But know one dared say it in public you see
Men like the minister had severe insecurities
He had constant power deficiency

The old man’s logic was law,
But in private many questioned what for?
Tribal and cultural heritage was at the core
Along with its justification which went like this:

“If you wrong the wrongdoers
Punishing you is just
And if he rapes you,
He has a right to fulfil his lust”

Sara was scared, but stepped up with courage
Mother was scared too but father too impoverished
A shooting star came and Sara wished
Staring at the mountainous clouds
But her soul felt finished.

The incision was made,
But it took too long
So much agony so her mother sang Sara a song
Everything so unnatural, all of it so wrong

Suddenly life’s cruel twists came to be
Young, beautiful Sara was never free
So much blood, 7 years since her birth
Young sweet Sara returned to the earth.

Sara didn’t wake up.

Friday, 9 July 2010

The American McDream

The American McDream

Across the Vast mountainous plains lied a boy named Rocky,
The beautifully engrossing forests and calm blue sky catch the eye.
The vast desert and the canyons galore, often gives you the sense of grandeur,
But delusions of the mind lead to downfall. This is America.

Rocky, Native by appearance and works in a fast food joint,
Often he questions ‘what’s the point?’ as he refills the dips,
Before taking another order of Fillet O Fish and Chips.
As He attaches the kissable bun to the artificial cheese

His rough, armoured skin he scratches, lights the matches
Before explaining the past like he was opening the latch to a sealed soul,
‘Our history is Centauries old’ as we huddled from the cold
As a tragic story of human belligerence was told:

‘His ancestors were not American Citizens before 1924,
No, they weren’t because Columbus found them,
To him they owe a lot including bringing epidemic disease,’
Says Soft spoken Rocky in the ice cold breeze.

History’s horrifically manipulated historiography meant truth was a lie,
The Europeans Massacred to ‘civilise us.’ Nothing new there
Ironically society there and here is now almost equal and fair
As I almost feared Rocky’s cold as ice stare

Indian wars, tales of slavery the so called birth of the ‘New nation’
Death, sorrow, submission in contradiction to European elation
Whispers of reparation is equating gold for the soul,
As the constitution prescribed freedom but then human’s were also bought and sold.

Assimilation or isolation the choice was very clear,
Coerced cohesion causes catastrophic fear
Now wandering like ‘a tree without its roots’
A product consumed to work for the American McDream
And funnily enough they aren't 'loving it'

But alas for the Native American, ‘Democracy beckoned’
And the Victors do not play nice to those who come second
Because ‘Civilisation’ he explained was about working in McDonalds.
And ‘Freedom’ he said is being able to order a Big Mac.

By Mohamed-Zain Dada

The rehabilitation of Martin Atchet

Another young poet and upcoming MC - Crucial

The rehabilitation of Martin Atchet

As I come out of the quiet storm
Building up on broke down form
the induction into hell I hear the cries and mourns
watching the clocks is making me ill
against the wall semi conscious 'bout to fall with no boxing skills.

The truth had me up against my own mind a couple times
and in everyone you find a bit of cheat and lies!
so the truth eventually dies...
like Revolutionary leaders that end up getting crucified.

heavenly proof the truth sets you free in to the open
and then kills you in the same breath leaving you broken inside
you find nothing until you open your eyes
I ain't talking 'bout the 2 on your face I'm talking 'bout the one in your mind,
the one in your brain
and I can't contemplate all that’s going down in this world
it's just all the same day after day
Too much patience that’s why I prey
too impatient to rest so I jus stay awake
hardly sleep 'cause I heard sleep is the cousin of death

I hold thoughts deep, real deep within my breath
and the way it speaks is lighter in a sense
that it makes me want to put my heart in until the time it ends.

The rhyme, itself, has no ending to the meaning
interpretations are infinite reach for the sky lifting' the ceiling
and thats how the truth made me feel when I heard it
so now I spit so the people can hear it

But I can't really fathom all of this that's starting' to happen
close my eyes and I see visions: the splitting of atom
the puppet master's still controlling the system
conducting the string quartet we the people are the instruments
there playing us...

you need to let ur conscious absorb this sit back
this is the ugly truth u didnt want gift wrapped


Poetry by Usman Mirza aka Crucial

Usman is also an MC by the name of Crucial from Neasden and is due to release his first mixtape this summer

2 cents

Our first poet and MC Hypothesis sends us an exclusive poem!

2 Cents
By Hypothesis (Samiul Rahman)

Ready aim fire
Put this through the wire
My words bounce back like I’m preaching to a Choir
An open book spoken word open hook broken nerves
Token look smoking herbs,
Grass is greener on the other side hoping verbs
Don’t take affirmative action
While the full stop period still lacks attraction,
Compound syllabuls blown into fragments
Punctuation situation every time I get too patient
Sickest with the incubation
Premature nouns that sound profound
Pound for pound I’m going ounce for ounce
Levitate it off the ground then I bounce it down
A question for the masses
Every time I capture
Exclamation chapters
Pages of phrases hidden between brackets
Can you comprehend the tenses that I packet
Food for thought no preservatives added
I need to state
Conjunctions that are made
So many send me coal in to trade
The winter for the heat hoodwinked and betrayed
Picture what I see when I put ink on a page
I quote commas like Im bringing grammar to life
Pause for a second then like a hammer it strikes
Nail on the head
Your missions are pointless like brail for the deaf
Slash ale on the breath that you fail to reject
I succeed in proposing, prepositional plurals
Go against the grain like Im living in the rural
Obama brought change not enough for a Euro
Human life beside hyphens subject to Zero
Objective adjectives blood paints a mural
So crystal clear like a conflict diamond possessive hypocrisy
I don’t want to go above heads like apostrophes
Only my two cents
On a train of thought
Flipped across the track to cause the brain to spark
Two cents
Words hit like bullets
A million in the chamber let my brain pull it
Two cents
The word is born
And I will spit it until it hurts and these words are gone

Hypothesis is an MC hailing from New York City, Queens. He is now working with other MC's in London to make his first mixtape

Wednesday, 7 July 2010


Our Manifesto...

The Poetic Empowerment Project aims to bring self confidence to the youth whilst allowing them to articulate their frustrations, emotions and creativity through the art of wordplay. Furthermore the P.E.P aims to empower the youth regardless of race, religion or creed. The young people involved in the project will also come out of it acknowledging and implementing the famous idiom that in fact 'the pen is mightier then the sword.' The P.E.P whilst also giving the youth a chance to express themselves will also target important youth issues at the same time. Issues such as 'knife crimes' will be addressed as well as 'extremism' and 'loneliness' etc.

All these issues will be listed and targeted in workshops separately and we hope to include at least one famous poet or spoken word artists or even rappers. Anyone who is respected by the youth thus creating a healthy, mutual environment. So rather then the local MP speaking we would prefer to choose the local MC! However we do want politicians to work closely with the project to help build a relationship of respect with the local youth.

I have articulated some of these points on the Barnet Times, the link is below:

Copy and Paste the above link into the address bar to access it!

Activities and Workshops

The implementation of activities and workshops is solely dependent on whether the P.E.P receives funding or not. However the core of the P.E.P will be poetry circles which will be circulated and held on our website: and will also be advertised on social networking sites to encourage young people to get involved!

The P.E.P will have an annual Charity Poetry Slam at the end of the year using the young poets in our project to express their poems on stage in front of an audience. We also plan to book one poet to perform as the headline act. All the money raised from this Poetry Slam will go to charity. However the young poets will not be forced into performing and can create their own type of performance using video’s or pre-recorded spoken word segments.

Aims and outcomes

By the end of the year we hope to:

Have at least one group of young poets to start off the project headed and chaired by mentors and Poetic Leaders

Have at least one workshop with the youth trying to tackle issues which concern them

Organise our first Charity Poetry Slam with the local MP speaking, a local poet or rapper perform and of course have our young poets express their art to the audience if they want to.

The aims outlined above are both attainable and realistic

The outcomes of the project are as follows:

To create a better more rational population of young people who are empowered with the knowledge that the 'pen is mightier then the sword.'

The above outcome will hopeful eradicate problems like knife crime to radical extremism

To give the youth self-confidence and treat one another with respect. Also crucially to give the youth the oral skills to deal with parents in a respectful manner thus leading to a more healthy family life.

Most importantly let the youth enjoy their work and give them full artistic control in terms of how they want to present their poetry. Each young person will have their own creative means to an ends.

The Poetic Empowerment Project requires volunteer's to help in anyway possible, if you are interested please contact:

Thank you for reading our manifesto.